


The Flood and The Trickster

by Novaskyr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Light Angst, Mythology References, Nice Crowley (Good Omens), Noah's Ark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaskyr/pseuds/Novaskyr
Summary: Storm clouds had been gathering all day, and now they hung low in the sky - heavy, dark and pendulous.“It won’t be enough,” the angel said, so quietly that Crawly could barely hear him over the sound of the dispersing crowd. Crawly didn’t answer. He was already striding away, thinking.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 18





	The Flood and The Trickster

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I'm posting on AO3. No beta's - but I've read through it a few times. Apologies in advance for the brackets that probably should be footnotes.

“Not the kids,” Crawly looked at the angel with mounting horror, “You can’t kill _kids_.”

Aziraphale nodded, his mouth a tight line, not meeting his eyes.

“What, all of them?”

“Everyone except Noah’s family,” the angel said quietly, “who’ll be on the Ark.”

Crawly thought for a moment, through the horror. “All over the world?”

“Just here.”

Like that made it any better. (It did. A little. Not a lot though.) Crawly’s brain sped up slightly.

“You’re just going to let them drown?”

Aziraphale looked down at the ground, and that was enough of an admission to make anger curl through Crawly. He was meant to be on the _good_ side. How could the angel justify sheltering _him_ and giving away his flaming, god-given sword, and then stand aside now?

“I _can’t_ ,” the angel whispered as Crawly stepped away from him, “I’m not to interfere.”

“Then what’s the point of you even being here?” Crawly snapped, then turned his back on the angel (despite an ingrained sense that he shouldn’t turn his back on _any_ supernatural being, angel or demon). Feeling the first drops of a rain he knew would end up being deadly, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everyone! Get to high ground! There’s going to be a flood! Just look at those clouds!”

Storm clouds had been gathering all day, and now they hung low in the sky - heavy, dark and pendulous - and giving weight to his words.

“It won’t be enough,” the angel said, so quietly that Crawly could barely hear him over the sound of the dispersing crowd. Crawly didn’t answer. He was already striding away, thinking.

* * *

The water had reached waist height before he’d worked out a plan. Well, an idea. The _start_ of a plan. It was better than nothing. Better than _doing_ nothing.

All he had to do was _move_ as many humans as he possibly could to somewhere else. Somewhere far away. He’d managed to find a spot he hoped would work elsewhere on the planet.

Even with the rain and the wind, it was faster to fly. Easier to spot people too. To begin with, he landed each time, gathering whole families to him and bending reality to his whim to transport them across the distance to the place he’d decided on. Then he’d do the same to send himself _back_ so he could look for more people. He’d realised after the first family that it would take more power than he actually had to do this many more times, but he pulled on his connection to Hell, ignoring the horrid acidic taste it created in his mouth and the stinging sensation, to siphon energy from there. He’d be caught, he was sure, but maybe he’d be able to talk himself out of it.

By the tenth rescue, he was only picking up kids, trying to conserve as much energy as he could before he burnt out, and the water was so deep that he was finding people stood on their roofs.

“Crawly.”

He realised with a sense of dread that he’d ended up in Hell when he’d tried to return to find more humans.

“Dagon,” he tried to sound cheery despite the grim face of the Lord of the Files. “I’m actually a _little_ busy right now, causing trouble, so I’ll just-“

“What, _exactly_ , are you doing up there, Crawly?”

“I’m… _thwarting_ Heaven’s plans.” He tried, seeing Dagon frown and quickly explaining, relieved as justification popped into his head. “See, there’s a whole bunch of humans, sinners, the lot of them, that _She’s_ sent a flood to drown.”

“More damned souls for us, I’ll alert Arrivals.” Dagon said, impassive as ever.

“Course, course, only,” Crawly gestured in what he hoped was a persuasive manner, “Well, they aren’t much use _dead_ , are they? If they’re _alive_ they can, you know, _spread_ the sin, can’t they. And they make more humans, you know, that’ll probably also end up sinners. So, you know, _long term_ , more souls for us if they survive, right?”

Dagon looked at him. He had a feeling that they’d been practising the unreadable expression Beelzebub had perfected while he’d been on Earth.

“Smart.” The said finally. “The powers of Hell are available to you. Carry on.”

Crawly felt himself get pushed to his original destination a surge of demonic power filling him almost painfully. Hellfire licked across his wings, lighting him up like a beacon. He chose not to dwell on the memories it brought back, or the insistent instinct that was screaming that he’d be a blazing target for any angels. He had work to do.

* * *

Crawly landed heavily on the soft ground of the forest, empty-handed. He’d found nothing living this time. Weariness and sorrow hung heavily on him but he couldn’t stop yet. Wings drooping, dishevelled, sodden and sore, he walked to the clearing he’d left the humans in, a sway to his gait that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he practiced. He should probably just embrace it at this point.

The humans were all huddled together, the few adults trying to comfort the many children. _Just a little more_. Drawing on the power from Below, he concentrated. _Shelter, food, fire, water_. There were gasps as it all appeared, from thin air. Crawly sagged, releasing the borrowed power, feeling wrung out and oddly chafed.

“Thank you,” One of the men said, daring to approach him.

“Wskdjk,” Crawly managed to get out, giving up any hope of coherence before he selected one of the tents that had popped up – wood covered with a strange hide no human had ever seen before – as his own. He was so tired.

And, for the first time in his existence, Crawly slept.

* * *

He woke up no longer exhausted, considering that this sleep thing was actually pretty decent. He could see why humans did it. Then sensed that he was not alone. He turned onto his side and saw an older child (an adolescent? He found it hard to determine ages beyond baby, kid, adult and old) holding a strip of bark with food on top. Food he’d created, he remembered. Their eyes wide, they held it out to them.

“Thanks.” He took it. Food wasn’t really his thing, but they were watching him expectantly, so he mimicked what he’d seen humans do and put a bit of fruit in his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “Mmm, delicious.” He said without feeling. That seemed satisfactory, at least, and they smiled, nodded and left him. Putting the bark down, the rest of the food untouched, Crawly stood up and stretched. Every muscle in his corporation complained at the movement and he noticed that state his wings were in. He made sure to tidy the storm-damage, through the ache that persisted from battling through wind and rain, before he folded them away and left his tent.

However long he’d slept for, the humans had certainly been busy. The first he’d created still burned, larger now, piles of wood ready to be added laying close by. An air of grief still hung around, little laughter and chatter, but the adults appeared to be organised things, delegating some jobs to the older children. They’d already set themselves up with tools too, he noted. It was impressive really, how quickly they were bouncing back.

He’d stick around a little longer, just on the outskirts, make sure they were okay. It would be kind of pointless to spend all that time rescuing them just for them to die here, after all.

* * *

Bears and mountain lions. _Bears and lions_.

If Crawly had known there’d be bears _and_ lions here, he wouldn’t have picked this place.

Don’t get him wrong, the humans were surprisingly capable when it came to defending themselves. But there were only a few adults. They couldn’t really afford to lose them.

Which was why Crawly ended up in his giant snake form (despite the fact that he always panicked about not being able to turn human-shaped again) slithering a wide perimeter around the group, scaring the dangerous wild animals away. Occasionally, he constricted something and left it for them. It wasn’t like he was _feeding_ them or anything. And when they reached and settled next to a lake, he took to submerging himself in the water to hide. He soon stopped doing that when the humans caught him slithering out and panicked.

When Hell finally contacted him to give him a new mission, the humans he’s saved were thriving, and had joined up with another group of humans. Sometimes they’d sit around the fire telling stories of a flood. They were doing alright, so he wasn’t worried about leaving them.

* * *

Aziraphale weathered the storm on the top deck of the Ark, stood by the railing. He listened to the patter of raindrops, the lapping of waves below, the whistling of the wind, and the occasional sickeningly soft bump of a bloated corpse against wood with a sense of dumb detachment. He’d stopped looking into the water. They didn’t look like humans any more. His face was wet and he had no idea if it was from the rain, his tears, or both. His robe clung to him, almost as heavily as the thoughts he fought to keep out of his head.

He kept his lonely vigil for forty days and forty nights.

The least he could do was stand witness.

When the rain finally stopped, and the first rainbow arched across the sky, Noah’s family cheered. _This is the last time_. He told himself numbly. _She promises. Never again._

He left the Ark as soon as it found dry land. And he did not look back.

The next time Crawly and Aziraphale met, they did not speak of the Flood.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale had never been to Northern America together. (They didn’t count the quick meetings they’d had during the Arrangement years. Bars are Bars.) There were lots of places they hadn’t been together. But with the world continuing to _not end_ and their previous employers – as they’d started to refer to Them as – ignoring them, they’d decided on a holiday. It was about time they allowed themselves to enjoy Earth properly.

Since they had (literally) all the time in the world, no jobs of financial worries, or anything else to hold them back, they’d decided on a leisurely road-trip tour, starting in the southern states and gradually winding through every state. They’d reached Canada (not a state, I know, but they were road-tripping through it after they’d visited Alaska) during the summer. Crowley was glad about that. He wasn’t fond of the cold.

They were doing all of the traditionally touristy things, stopping at museums and scenery and sightseeing. Some of the scenery had been remarkably familiar to Crowley, but he _had_ been to a lot of places, so he didn’t dwell on it.

They sat in the museum café, hot drinks to hand, empty plates and crumbs the only evidence that there had been cakes at some point. Crowley sipped his coffee while Aziraphale skimmed through his most recent purchase, a book on Native American Folklore. There was a smile on the demon’s face. There often was nowadays. He didn’t need to hide.

It was lucky that they’d ‘hired’ the biggest RV they could, even if it was a monster to drive compared to the Bentley. If they didn’t miracle all the books Aziraphale had purchased back to the bookshop, they’d probably have to charter a plane to take them. There was no way they’d be able to take them on their plane.

(Much to Crowley’s chagrin, Aziraphale was insisting that they do this properly, airports and all. Crowley _liked_ airports, from a distance. The chaos, the nerves, the misery, they were truly a demonic creation and he was rather proud of them. He did _not_ like to use them. He’d tried to persuade Aziraphale that they could catch a cruise back to England, but boats were a touchy subject for them, what with the Ark and the Titanic. So he’d not tried particularly hard.)

“Your tea’s gone cold angel.”

“No it hasn’t,” and Crowley could see the bright smile on his angel’s face, “You wouldn’t let it.” Crowley let out a huff, steam rising from the mug once more. “Thank you,” Aziraphale looked up at him and Crowley pretended not to notice, finishing his coffee.

Aziraphale could take a hint. He placed the book inside his interdimensional pocket for later, leaving the paragraph he’d started unread for now. He’d read it later. And, much later, a bored Crowley would read it too. And things would be spoken of, no earlier than they should be.

* * *

_Wisakedjak is the benevolent culture hero of the Cree tribe. His name is spelled so many different ways partially because Cree was originally an unwritten language (so English speakers just spelled it however it sounded to them at the time), and partially because the Cree language is spoken across a huge geographical range in both Canada and the US, so it has many different dialects. Wisakedjak is a trickster character whose adventures are often humorous. Unlike Plains Indian tricksters, however, Wisakedjak is usually portrayed as a staunch friend of humankind, and never as a dangerous or destructive being._  
  
Details of Wisakedjak's life vary considerably from community to community. In some myths, Wisakedjak was specifically created by the Great Spirit to be a teacher for humankind. In others, he was the divine son of the Earth. In yet others, he is said to have conjured a flood that destroyed the world after the Creator had built it, then rebuilt it himself using magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Wisakedjak’s information taken from http://www.native-languages.org/wisakejak.htm and added to from other sources after a series of searches about folklore. It is a little weird how many Crowley could fit into. Future fics may come of them. I'm also slightly enamored by the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley on an American road trip.
> 
> Kudos/comments and tips welcomed.


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